


Last Author Standing Drabbles

by hrhrionastar



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, D'Harans are People Too, Episode: s01e22 Reckoning, Episode: s02e11 Torn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-27
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 14:06:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrhrionastar/pseuds/hrhrionastar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for the Last Author Standing competition at <a href="http://lotsfic-events.livejournal.com/">lotsfic_events</a>. Individual summaries and warnings inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saved

RKCZ team fic, post- _Tears_.

 

-

 

"This is all your fault," Kahlan accused.

She had her arms folded, as much to defend herself from the cold of their prison, which was open to the night air, as to maintain her dignity.

She was glaring at Zedd, who responded by raising his eyebrows.

"That's not fair, Kahlan," Richard said absently. He was staring into the night, trying to get a good look at their captors—if he could induce one to come near, Kahlan could Confess the unfortunate person, and likely Richard would learn a good deal more about Lord Naft and his inevitable nefarious plans than he knew now.

"We've known one another for three years, Zedd," Kahlan persisted. "And in all that time you neglected to tell me Lord Naft holds you in aversion?"

"Enemies," Zedd said gravely, "are the price of honor."

"And I suppose hubris is the price of magical power," Kahlan muttered crossly.

Richard had unwillingly taken on the role of Lord Rahl, and he naturally wanted to make peace with his Northern neighbors.

Lord Naft had been very friendly…too friendly, Kahlan considered. He certainly didn't treat her with the respect due either the Mother Confessor or Lady Rahl.

After two years in the near-constant company of a Mord'Sith, nothing he could say had the power to shock her, but there was something unsettling in his attitude—a hidden threat in every overdone courtesy.

Nonetheless, it did not gratify her to have her suspicions confirmed.

"I did him a bad turn once," Zedd admitted. "But he would have bored Shota within a week; he was unworthy of her."

Before Kahlan had time to process that apparently their imprisonment was solely due to Lord Naft's failed romance, Richard exclaimed happily, "Cara!"

There was a click, and then Richard, Kahlan and Zedd were hurrying out the door to greet their rescuer.

"You three have fun without me?" Cara asked, grinning.

"Impossible," Richard laughed.

But Kahlan's relief was too great to make light of—not just yet, anyway.

Wordlessly, she embraced Cara, secure in the other woman's arms. Nothing too terrible could be happening if Richard and Cara could still joke about it.

"Here," Cara said, pulling back a little to hand Kahlan her daggers, hilts first. "I thought you might want these."

Kahlan grinned, thinking of revenging herself upon Lord Naft. "At the moment, there's nothing I want more, " she admitted.

Richard caught her eye, a mischievous question in his look.

"Except that," Kahlan said, and blushed.


	2. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Took first place in round 2 of LotS LAS.
> 
> What if Kahlan took the Keeper's deal? Inspired by the poem, The Highwayman, by Alfred Noyes.
> 
>  _Look for me by moonlight;  
>  Watch for me by moonlight;  
> I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!_
> 
> \- Alfred Noyes, The Highwayman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for implied violence and character death.

The night was peaceful. Richard, Cara, and Zedd were asleep. It was Kahlan's watch.

The moon rose.

Kahlan shivered.

"Which shall it be?" Darken Rahl whispered behind her. He always came to her in the moonlight. Kahlan didn't have to turn around to picture him, with his swirling robes and hard eyes and that condescending smirk.

The tyrant king of D'Hara haunted her far more now than he ever had when he was alive.

"You must choose, you know," he said. His voice was like poisoned honey—sweet and wicked.

He would be the death of her.

Kahlan turned to look at him—Darken Rahl, harbinger of her doom.

She remembered their conversation in the Underworld. Remembered the pain of having her throat cut. Remembered the way the blood had oozed down her neck and chest, and stained the bodice of her dress.

She no longer wore the white of the Mother Confessor, though, and the stains weren't noticeable. She'd wiped herself clean before she rejoined the others.

Richard must never know she'd taken the Keeper's deal.

Yet how far could she run tonight—how far would she have to go to find someone who deserved to die?

Her time was running out. Again.

"Kahlan," said Darken Rahl.

He did not say, Mother Confessor.

Kahlan did not deserve the title anymore.

"You asked for this," he reminded her. "Fulfill the Keeper's will, or join me in the Underworld."

It sounded like an invitation.

Kahlan was possessed of a mad desire to give in, and she wondered if this were his power. Darken Rahl made destruction seem beautiful.

"You will be there soon enough," he said. "You all will."

"No!" Kahlan tossed her hair back defiantly. "We will defeat your Master! We will seal the Veil, and the world will be right again!"

"My Master," he agreed. "And yours."

 _Never_ , Kahlan tried to say.

His fingers caressed her cheek.

It was an illusion. Darken Rahl was a spirit, and he could not touch her.

But it felt real.

Kahlan leaned closer, drawn in against her will.

His lips brushed hers. A spark seemed to leap from her to him and back again.

And Kahlan knew this was no dream—no moonlit nightmare.

"I hate you," she whispered.

He was the only one who knew the truth of her darkness—her shame. She would kill him for that if he weren't already dead.

Darken Rahl laughed. "You are a joy," he told her. "I will waive your duty to the Keeper for tonight—just this once."

Sudden hope made Kahlan gasp. She looked down at her sleeping friends, wondering why Darken Rahl would risk the Keeper's wrath for their safety—or did he do this for her alone?

She drew breath to ask him.

But the moon was obscured behind a cloud.

Darken Rahl's spirit was gone. Kahlan was alone.

She hugged herself and shivered again. The night was cold.

"I hate him," she told herself.

It was _not_ a lie.


	3. Dangerous Assumptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard and Kahlan plot to kill Darken Rahl, but their plan hits a snag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've expanded on this drabble in [A Festival of Foes](http://archiveofourown.org/works/268277/chapters/421972).

D'Hara marked the end of the autumn harvest with an annual weeklong festival. It was the only time of the year they could be certain just where Darken Rahl was.

The opportunity was simply too good to miss.

The Seeker and Confessor wafted through the D'Haran guards like smoke. It was easy.

It was…baffling.

Normally Richard and Kahlan would have to kill an entire garrison to get this far.

"I don't trust this," Kahlan muttered, as they snuck into the Palace amid a crowd of brightly clad acrobats.

Darken Rahl sat waiting for them in the throne room. There were no guards. Richard and Kahlan were utterly alone with the tyrant of D'Hara—except for a four-year-old blonde girl sitting at Rahl's feet and sucking her thumb.

Richard blinked, the Sword of Truth only half drawn. "I'm here to kill you," he announced, uncertainly.

Rahl's eyes glittered evilly. "Seeker," he acknowledged, "have the goodness to explain your unprovoked attack upon me to my daughter." He stroked the child's blonde curls. "Think of it as…my last request."

"Unprovoked?" Kahlan said hotly. "How dare you? You slaughtered my sister-Confessors, oppressed my people, had Richard tortured—"

"Kahlan," Richard protested. Rahl might be a fiend in human flesh, but you just didn't say that sort of thing in front of a toddler.

The poor girl—who knew what agonies of punishment and neglect she must suffer at Rahl's hands?

Although she looked well cared for, her curls neatly brushed and on her adorable little face the same look of smug self-satisfaction her father habitually wore.

It was hard to imagine Rahl as a doting parent, but the evidence was before their eyes.

The girl took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to say to Kahlan, "You're mean!"

Richard bent down to look directly into the toddler's bright green eyes. "Don't worry," he said, "we're going to rescue you. Can you help us find your mother?"

Probably some poor woman who had no idea of the shameless way Rahl was trying to use her child to distract Richard from killing him.

Rahl looked up, the child clapped her hands, and Richard whirled around just in time to see a blonde Mord'Sith drop down from the ceiling directly behind Kahlan and snap a Rada'Han around her neck.

Richard drew his Sword—he should have known this was a trap—other Mord'Sith appeared, who had certainly not been there before—

"Sophie, close your eyes," ordered the blonde Mord'Sith; the toddler obediently squeezed her eyes shut.

Richard was utterly baffled and horrified by the speed with which everything had gone wrong.

The blonde Mord'Sith had her agiel to Kahlan's heart—

"Please!" Richard cried. "Don't—"

"Yield," Rahl commanded.

Richard dropped the Sword. Whatever happened, he couldn't live with himself if Kahlan died because of him.

The last thing Richard heard before Rahl picked up the Sword and hit him over the head with its hilt was little Sophie saying proudly, " _That's_ my mommy."


	4. The Seeker's Daughters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years post-series, Kahlan has a hard conversation with her daughters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: character death.

Kahlan stood on the same balcony where she and Richard had been married so many years before.

She could have stepped directly out into the night air, before falling to the distant cobblestones below.

Richard had always meant to put in a railing someday, when he had a spare moment…

The courtyard was empty now, but Kahlan's people would be here tomorrow, screaming for their vengeance against the monsters who had slain Lord Rahl, the Seeker of Truth. _Richard._

Kahlan raised her tearstained face to the stars above. They shone brightly, but not so brightly as Richard's eyes had when lit with love for her.

Kahlan knew he basked in the Creator's Light.

"Mother."

Kahlan turned to behold her eldest daughter.

The candlelight spilling from the anteroom behind her brightened Tara's dark hair, but left her face in shadow. Kahlan didn't need to see the stubborn jaw and dark eyes Tara had inherited from her father to know why the child was here.

But Tara was no child; she was a woman grown.

Pride filled Kahlan's heart, but she knew she could not bring herself to grant Tara's incipient request.

"No," she said, turning away. "Leave me to my grief."

"I will—when you give me leave to pursue my vengeance," Tara replied calmly. "This nightmare will not stop until the Sword of Truth pierces the cold heart of the monster who killed my father. You know the prophecy."

"Yes," Kahlan admitted. She met Tara's eyes, so like Richard's. "But it need not be _you_. I will send armies—"

"More than those Father commanded?" it was Sonia, Kahlan's second eldest child. Behind her crowded Mary, Dennee, and little Caralyn —Richard had given Kahlan five strong, beautiful daughters. If only they had not all inherited his fearlessness in the pursuit of justice.

Kahlan put a hand to her head. She wore no crown as Lady Rahl, but her hair was so elaborately curled and braided it might as well have been one. It had never felt so heavy as it did now that she must bear the burden of rulership alone.

"Do not ask me to send you into danger," she pleaded. "Not now."

She had lost Richard—must she lose her daughters too? Sonia, Tara, and Mary would certainly go if she allowed it, and although each was both a warrior and a Confessor, the ancient enemy they would face was immune to magic.

How could Kahlan bear to sacrifice those she loved in this hopeless cause? Richard was dead; they were already finished.

"We are _his_ daughters," Sonia countered. "Do not ask us to remain here while thousands die in our names."

"You are not only our mother, you are our Queen," Tara said. "You must let us go."

Kahlan knew Tara was right. There was no one braver or stronger, and the prophecy must be fulfilled.

"Tomorrow," the Queen promised.

She wondered how soon wild-eyed heralds would bring her word of her daughters' deaths.


	5. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HBiC!Kahlan isn't going to be erased from reality without a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Confession, and ambiguous character death.

The Wizard was going to kill the Mother Confessor.

He held out a hand for the second half of the amulet that would destroy her, all for the sake of the 'real' Kahlan Amnell.

The Seeker reached into his pocket and pulled out three coppers and a ball of lint; it appeared his half of the amulet was missing.

The Mother Confessor smirked.

But the Seeker was undaunted at the prospect of another quest; he led all five of them through the forest in search of the amulet.

The Mother Confessor's steps faltered in a suitably lonely clearing.

The Seeker was at her side at once. "Kahlan?" he asked anxiously.

She glared.

"Mother Confessor," he amended, "are you all right?"

"Mistress?"

She had Confessed her weaker emotional self, and now the woman fussed about her unbearably.

The Mother Confessor smiled bravely. "I'll be fine," she said, shooing away her weaker self with one hand. "Go and help Richard."

The Wizard supported her. "Keep looking," he said. "Remember, the sooner we find the other half of the amulet, the sooner we'll have the real Kahlan back."

At this even the Mord'Sith ceased raising her eyebrows sardonically and joined the Seeker and the Mother Confessor's weaker self in continuing the search.

The Mother Confessor stumbled artistically, to hide her relief at their departure from the clearing.

The Wizard approached her, looking concerned. "Headache?"

She nodded.

He reached for her temples. "I'm sorry you're in pain, dear one," he said, "but soon you'll be yourself again—"

He stopped speaking when the Mother Confessor's hand closed around his throat.

There was thunder without sound, and power flooded the Mother Confessor's senses. The Wizard had _so much_ magic—she was stunned at its impact. Her hand tingled where she touched him.

When she let go and he fell to his knees, gazing up at her worshipfully, the tingling sense of power spread through the Mother Confessor's whole body.

"Command me, Mistress," he begged.

She had been afraid what she wanted was not possible—now she doubted there was anything beyond the Wizard's powers.

"You said my being a 'magical fragment' made conception impossible," the Mother Confessor said, wrinkling her nose at the unflattering description of herself. "You weren't lying, but I sensed you holding something back."

"Yes, Mistress," the Wizard said eagerly. "There _is_ a way for you to gain objective reality—the amulet must be destroyed."

He opened his palm to reveal her half of the amulet.

There was a brief flare of Wizard's fire. The Mother Confessor felt its searing heat as though she were the one burning. She welcomed the pain, imagining it was cleansing her of every last trace of the whiny weakling wearing her face she'd Confessed.

Finally there was only ash. The Mother Confessor grinned wildly at the Wizard, giddy with triumph.

Whatever happened now, the Seeker could not erase her existence—she was as real as his precious Kahlan Amnell had been.

She was free.


	6. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre-series, Lieutenant Ashgar (from _Listener_ ), suffers through a dark ritual to save the woman he loves.
> 
> Inspired by:
> 
>  _"No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves."_  
>  -Dracula, page 156

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied violence, serious injury.

Mistress Cara was bleeding.

Her hair had escaped her braid. The black blood of the Creature marred its gleaming gold.

The Creature had raked its claws across her stomach, ripping through her leather corset, but the injury that worried Lieutenant James Ashgar most was her throat.

The Creature had bitten her before she slew it. It was a gar's bigger, blood-sucking cousin.

Not bitten, Lieutenant Ashgar thought grimly. It had nearly ripped her throat out.

It was a miracle that Mistress Cara still lived at all.

And there was the temple, thank the Creator. Lord Rahl was inside, waiting for a report.

The lieutenant swallowed hard. Lord Rahl would not be pleased that the Dragon Corps had required a Mord'Sith to rescue them from the Creature.

And not just any Mord'Sith: Mistress Cara was—

Everyone knew that loving a Mord'Sith was folly. She must never know of his feelings.

But Lieutenant Ashgar didn't know what he would do if she died.

Lord Rahl was waiting for him in a central chamber. When he saw Mistress Cara, unconscious and bleeding sluggishly in Lieutenant Ashgar's arms, he sprang to his feet, suddenly pale.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Lieutenant Ashgar explained. "My Lord—"

But Lord Rahl had turned away, giving swift, low-voiced orders to another Mord'Sith. She returned in moments with a heavy book.

Lord Rahl gestured for Lieutenant Ashgar to lay Mistress Cara on a stone bench. He obeyed, swallowing hard when he saw her wounded neck from this new angle.

"You will assist me," Lord Rahl announced. He had the book open now, clutched tightly in his hands, and if he'd been anyone else, Lieutenant Ashgar would have said he was terrified. "Lie down there."

Lieutenant Ashgar obeyed, lying on the stone bench parallel to Mistress Cara's.

Lord Rahl took a deep breath, and moved to stand between them. He extended one hand toward Lieutenant Ashgar and began to chant in a strange language.

Shocked, the lieutenant realized that he was part of a dark magical ritual.

Then the pain hit.

For a long time, he could scarcely breathe—this was unbearable.

But he was Dragon Corps. He did not cry out.

He watched a warm blush gradually suffuse Mistress Cara's cheeks for a full minute before he realized his eyes were open.

Lieutenant Ashgar forgot his recent agonies when he saw the skin of Mistress Cara's throat begin to knit back together.

"How—?" he whispered, awed.

Lord Rahl ignored him, but Lieutenant Ashgar thought he might be able to answer his own question. Somehow, Lord Rahl had transferred some of the lieutenant's blood to Mistress Cara.

Her eyes opened. "Lord Rahl," she said, and sat up.

It was a miracle.

She tried to stand and crumpled, obviously still dizzy.

Lord Rahl caught her and swept her into his arms.

He carried her to the door, only pausing on the threshold to smile at the lieutenant. "Thank you— _Captain_ Ashgar."

And then they were gone.


	7. Empress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Empress of D'Hara isn't having the best day. Female!Darken Rahl, for the gender bender prompt.

The cartoon was an artistic rendition of a young and handsome man with bulging muscles, holding aloft a glowing sword with 'Truth' emblazoned on the hilt. He, or rather his sword, centered the drawing, but not far from the sharp point of the weapon a dark-haired woman in full court dress stood swooning, with one hand to her forehead.

Lady Darla Rahl, Empress of D'Hara, didn't consider it a very good likeness.

She crumpled the parchment in her fist. The Seeker had been dead for twenty years, but still he haunted her.

Her hands itched for her poisoned daggers. Or perhaps she should borrow one of Cara's agiels…

But no. Nicholas was watching closely, from the heir's throne. Darla wanted her son to put the blame where it belonged. Killing the messenger would not advance her goals.

"Thank you, lieutenant," she said rather abstractedly, deliberately slumping. The cool, unyielding stone of her ancestral seat of power contrasted with her heavy red velvet gown.

Ladies didn't slump; it was one of the many ways Darla had disappointed her father, after her first and most important shortcoming: being born female.

And then there had been the foretold birth of the Seeker.

Darla had averted the prophecy, but the Midlands still clung to their fantasy of a strong and handsome Seeker to save them from the supposedly weak, but fearsome, Lady Rahl.

They might choose to think of Darla as a helpless woman; her armies were harder to discount.

The lieutenant had retreated, and Nicholas was using the lull before the next petitioner approached the thrones of D'Hara to open a heavy book on his knees. It was the one on blood magic Darla had particularly recommended to his attention. Nicholas was only ten, but such a bright child that she had no qualms about encouraging him to develop his Gift.

Darla straightened out the treasonous parchment again without looking at it.

It was so tedious, having to prove her competence over and over.

Once she had all three Boxes of Orden, maybe she wouldn't have to push so hard.

But until that halcyon day…

"Mistress Cara," Darla ordered. Cara stepped smartly forward, from her protective stance at Lady Rahl's shoulder. "Take care of our artist for me, will you?"

Cara's green eyes were warm with an anger that matched Darla's. This insolence could not, and would not, go unpunished. "Of course, my Lady," Cara said.

Darla sat up straighter, holding out the cartoon of the Seeker. Cara would need it to find the artist.

At the last moment, though, she glanced again at the drawing of herself, and frowned.

"I don't really look that pathetic, do I?" she whined. Luckily, only Cara and Nicholas were within earshot.

Cara rolled her eyes.

"The Resistance is just stupid, Mother," Nicholas said firmly.

Darla smiled, reassured. She handed over the parchment and tapped two fingers against her lips as she watched Cara stride to the door.

She was going to miss her First Mistress.


	8. Warmth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the new year, and Darken wants to celebrate with his distant wife.

Kahlan sat curled in the window seat, watching the snowflakes swirl leisurely downward on their path to the distant ground.

Snow was a rare blessing in D'Hara. Darken wondered if it made Kahlan homesick for the Midlands.

Regardless of the weather, though, she could spend hours in that window, while Darken sat at his desk working through the tedious parchmentwork of running an Empire. Periodically he would make a comment or ask her advice; she always responded in a cool and polite monotone, but she never initiated anything.

They were together, yet apart. It was the story of their marriage.

"It's the new year tomorrow," Darken observed, turning over a page of the report from one of Kahlan's orphanages. Apparently the children were all in good health, bar an outbreak of dragon pox. Darken caught himself hoping they were enjoying their holidays. As if children of the Resistance would appreciate his good wishes.

"Mmm," Kahlan agreed. She didn't turn to look at him. "Nicholas should give you something. What do you want this year?"

Nicholas, a highly energetic two-and-a-half-year-old, was young enough that the concept of the new year was somewhat lost upon him. Besides, he had already received plenty of Creatormas gifts. Too many, Darken guiltily suspected. Now that he had someone he loved to give things to, he kept getting carried away. And it was so hard to deny Nicholas anything.

But of course Kahlan would never give Darken a gift without using Nicholas as an excuse.

Darken studied his wife's perfect profile. She was as cold as the snow, and as colorless.

What Darken wanted from Kahlan was something he could never take, and she refused to give.

But surely the peace counted for something? Was a little trust too much to ask?

To say nothing of warmer feelings…

Darken set his work aside. He couldn't concentrate.

He rose and went to the window, dropping a light kiss on Kahlan's hair and resting a hand on her shoulder. "They say tonight the world begins anew," he commented.

Outside, the last light of the day faded behind the heavy clouds.

Darken watched the snow fall in the gathering dusk. He had given up on getting an answer when Kahlan twisted around to look at him.

Her eyes were wide, dark and vulnerable.

"The world doesn't begin in a storm," Kahlan informed him. "It ends in one."

This sounded like theology, but Darken sensed Kahlan didn't mean the foretold death of all living things, the Keeper's ultimate victory at the end of time.

Fear stirred in his heart, familiar as his own shadow. But it was fear for Kahlan, not of her. She had been fire, and ever since that night in West Granthia she was just embers, buried under a layer of snow.

Kahlan sighed. "You never told me what you wanted," she complained.

Darken smiled. "Whatever you wish, my Queen."

Someday he would find a way to bring his wife the gift of incandescent joy.


End file.
